Only once during the night were the watchers disturbed. Two convicts endeavored to worm their way up to the hut unseen but were quickly spotted by the captain who emptied his revolver at them without any other effect than to cause them to take to their heels. Aside from this incident the besieged were not disturbed.
The convicts were evidently keeping as keen a watch as the besieged to guard against the possibility of any of them escaping. A hat which Chris squeezed out through a crack between the posts was promptly riddled with bullets.
Morning found the hunters and their new friend weary with suspense and their long inactivity. All longed for a stroll in the open air, a chance to stretch their legs, and an unlimited supply of water to drink. It almost seemed that their meager allowance of a pint and a half each for the twenty-four hours did little more than increase their thirst. They could not safely alter their unpleasant situation, however, and they wisely made the best of it and did not grumble.
They had one great consolation in Charley's rapid progress towards health. He was gaining with astonishing rapidity and bid fair to be completely recovered in a few days.
With the coming of another day, the convicts opened an irregular fire upon the doors and windows of the hut. Many of their bullets passed between the cracks in the post barricades and imbedded themselves in the walls. The defenders husbanded their ammunition, firing only when a convict exposed arm or leg. They were satisfied now of the impregnability of their building and their main concern was to keep out of the way of chance bullets.
The morning was well advanced when Walter, who was watching at a window, felt a curious sensation in the soles of his feet, and, startled, looked down to find that he was standing in a tiny pool of water. With a cry of alarm he sprang to where the big copper sat. A glance confirmed his worst fears; a stray bullet had torn a great hole in the vessel near the bottom, and of their precious store of water barely a cupful remained.
It was a staggering blow to all. Food they could exist without for several days, but in that warm, humid climate life could not be sustained without water for any length of time. Before forty-eight hours had passed they would be confronted by the alternatives of surrendering to the convicts, or to suffering the awful tortures of thirst.
"We must hold out as long as we can," declared Ritter, "something may turn up. Even death by thirst would be better than torture at the hands of those fiends. What little water is left, I would suggest that we save for the sick lad. We can stand thirst longer than he."
The rest agreed heartily to this proposal and the little water remaining was poured into an empty gourd and placed where it would be safe from bullets. By tacit consent they agreed that their loss should be concealed from Charley, who had slept throughout the incident. They knew him well enough to be sure that he would not touch the little water remaining if he knew they were suffering from thirst.
To add to the troubles of the little party, the day proved very hot and sultry, not a breath of air stirring. By noon all were very thirsty, and when night came without bringing any relief from the heat, they began to suffer severely for lack of water.
The hot night dragged slowly away to bring another breathless sultry day, the close of which found the little party almost at the limits of their endurance. Since the night before they had been unable to eat the dry venison as it greatly increased their thirst. Their tongues and throats were dry and swollen and every nerve and atom of their heated bodies clamored for water.
As night fell, Ritter got out the punctured copper and busied himself in plugging up the hole.
"What are you doing that for?" Walter inquired.
"I'll tell you when the rest are asleep," whispered the young outlaw, "there is no use alarming them."
It was late in the night before the others, tortured by fear and thirst, fell into uneasy slumber, and Walter and Ritter were free to continue their conversation.
"We are in a desperate condition," declared Ritter. "In this heat we cannot exist very much longer without water. Something has got to be done at once if we are to hold out another forty-eight hours."
"But what can we do?" said Walter, hopelessly. "It's sure death to venture outside."
"I am not so sure about that," said the other, "anyway, I am going to try it, anything is better than the tortures we will soon be suffering."
"You'll be killed," exclaimed Walter. "I'll go, Ritter, I can be spared better than you."
"Death by bullet is better than death by thirst," said his companion coolly, "and you cannot be spared as well as I. Your companions are fond of you and your death would be a terrible blow to them, while I am only an unknown convict whom no one will miss. But I am getting tragic," he continued, lightly. "I really think there is a good chance of success, the night is dark, and the very boldness of the attempt will be in its favor. They will not dream of one of us venturing right under the shadow of their fort."
Although he spoke with apparent sincerity, Walter was not deceived. Both knew the hopelessness of such an attempt. In vain did Walter attempt to dissuade the other, Ritter remained firm.
"We will remove a post from the doorway as quietly as possible and you do your best to protect me with your rifle," he said.
With a heavy heart, Walter assisted the other to remove the post. He had grown very fond of Ritter in the few days they had been together. He admired him for his bravery and the cheeriness and sweetness of his disposition under trials and suffering. He gave the outlaw's hand a long, friendly clasp at parting.
"May God bring you back safe and sound," he whispered, brokenly.
With a return pressure of the hand, Ritter dropped to his hands and knees and wound his way out of the doorway into the darkness. Walter watched his progress from the doorway with an anxious heart. He saw him crawl a considerable distance from the hut, then rise to his feet and saunter carelessly towards the fort. The very boldness of the act made it successful. The convict on guard no doubt thought the figure one of his companions, needlessly exposing himself to a bullet from the hut, and only wondered vaguely at his taking needless risks and perhaps speculated dully as to what was the nature of the large object he bore.
Carelessly, Ritter sauntered slowly past the fort and approached the spring. There was no guard posted on that side of the fort and he partly filled the copper and kneeling by the cool water took a deep drink and bathed his feverish face in the refreshing liquid. Half of his mad task was performed, but, as he fully realized, the riskiest part was yet to come.
Taking another long drink, he lifted the heavy copper and, bearing it in front of him so as to conceal it as much as possible by his person, he walked slowly back towards the hut.
Two-thirds of the return was covered in safety when the convict guard shouted with an oath, "Come back, you fool, do you want to get the daylights shot out of you?"
Ritter's answer was a taunting laugh as he bounded towards the hut.
The guard's rifle cracked and the fleeing man staggered drunkenly but sped on, while the convict working the lever of his Winchester with remorseless cruelty, emptied its contents after the fleeing figure.
At the doorway of the hut, Ritter crumpled to his knees.
"Take the copper," he cried to Walter, "I'm hit." Walter quickly placed the vessel inside, then, heedless of the rain of bullets, dragged the wounded man inside.
The others had been awakened by the noise and were quickly at his side.
"Chris, give me a hand to lay him on my bed; Captain, replace the post in the doorway," Walter commanded with heartsore calmness.
The wounded man opened his eyes as they laid him gently on the couch.
"It's no use bothering with me, old chap," he said, quietly. "I'm hit in a dozen places and I'm doctor enough to know that I'm going fast."
Walter buried his head by the dying man's side and sobbed dryly.
"There, there," the other said, soothingly, "don't feel bad about it. It's just what I wished for. I'm going to die like a gentleman."
Walter hushed his sobs with an effort to catch the feebly spoken words.
The wounded man's eyes closed, and Walter held his breath for a second thinking him dead, but in a moment he opened them again and smiled faintly, "There's nothing to a race but the finish," he whispered.
A little longer he lay still breathing heavily. Suddenly by a mighty effort he raised himself on his elbow, his eyes shining with a strange light. "Not guilty, your honor," he said in a firm voice, then sank back still and white.
"He's dead," said Walter, brokenly. "He had his wish; he died like a hero."
They covered the still form reverently with a blanket, and the silence of bitter grief settled on the little party. The others had not become so intimate with the dead man as Walter, but they had grown to admire him greatly, and the thought that he had given up his life in their service added to their grief.
Walter's suffering was intense and it was well that his mind was of necessity soon forced into other channels.
The convicts, exasperated at the way they had been outwitted, opened a heavy continuous fire upon the hut, under cover of which several attempts were made to carry the hut by assault. But the assaulting parties were easily discouraged by the steady fire that met them at each attempt.
"It looks as if they were getting desperate," said the captain. "I reckon they know now that we can hold out for a long time yet, and they are gettin' discouraged," and his companions agreed with him.
Towards morning the convicts' fire slackened and gradually ceased.
Just as day was breaking, the distant report of a rifle was borne to the ears of the besieged.
Charley, who was now able to leave his bed, listened eagerly. "It's Indian Charley's rifle. I know the sound," he declared, "ten shots; I wonder what it means."
From the fort, came an answering volley of ten rifle shots.
"It's a signal," cried Walter. "I wonder what it's for."
"Hallo there in the but, we want a parley," hailed a rough voice from the fort.
"All right," answered Charley, "send forward one man, unarmed."
A convict emerged from the fort and advanced towards the hut with fearful, hesitating footsteps.
"Don't be afraid, we won't hurt you," Walter called to him encouragingly.
"Say what you want and be quick about it," said Charley sharply, as the convict halted close to the hut.
"Me and my mates want to know if you are ready to call this thing quits," the man growled. "We agree to leave you the island all to yourselves right off if you won't fire on us while we are leaving."
Charley turned to the others for counsel.
"There's something in the wind," he declared in a low tone. "This proposal coming so soon after that signal means something. Maybe the Indians are coming."
"We can't bank on that, it's hardly time for them yet," observed the captain. "Better agree to their offer, lads. I guess they are just tired of the game."
"We can't well stop them if they have taken a notion to leave," said Walter. "I agree with the captain. Let them go."
Charley turned to the man. "We agree, provided you leave at once," he said.
The convict, with a surly growl, turned and rapidly retraced his steps to the fort.
The convicts were in evident haste to be gone, for their envoy had hardly got inside before they began to file out, each bearing his gun and other belongings.
Within ten minutes from the envoy's visit the last of the outlaws had scaled the walls and was lost to sight.
The hunters waited for half an hour before they removed the barricade from the door and let the fresh cool morning breeze into their stuffy prison. Even then they did not venture outside, for they still feared some trick on the part of the convicts. As the moments, passed quietly by, however, without any sign of their foes, their fears began to decrease.
"I am going to find out what has become of them," Walter at last declared. "Unless we make certain now of what they are up to, we will be afraid to venture outside for a week to come."
His companions in vain tried to dissuade him from his rash project, his mind was made up and he turned a deaf ear to their words.
Shouldering one of the rifles, he made his way to the wall, clambered over it nimbly and disappeared on the other side.
It was over half an hour before Walter returned. His companions had begun to feel uneasy about him when he appeared on the top of the wall and dropped down inside with a hearty cheer.
"Come out, all of you," he shouted, "there's nothing more to fear from the convicts."
The little party crowded around him with eager questions.
"I followed them down to the landing," he said. "They had just shoved off in their dugout and were headed back for their old camp and paddling away for dear life.
"I had not long to wait before I discovered the reason for their haste. Far up the stream was a big fleet of Indian dugouts coming down, there must have been forty of them at least. Then all was as plain as print: the convicts were aiming to get back to their ponies and make their escape on them. Likely they would have done so if Indian Charley had only warned them a little sooner, but they were too late."
"Go on," said Charley, eagerly, as Walter paused in his story.
"They had only got as far as that little island near this one, when another big fleet of canoes appeared just ahead of them. I guess they realized that they stood no show to make a successful fight for it, crowded up as they were in the dugout; anyway, they ran ashore on that little island and threw up mounds of sand and are lying behind them."
"Have the Indians attacked them?" Charley demanded.
"Not a shot has been fired. The Indians have formed a circle around the island with their canoes just out of good gunshot and seem to be waiting."
"Let's all go down to the landing," proposed Charley, eagerly, as Walter concluded his account.
The others were as excited as Charley and readily agreed to the proposal.
They found the situation just as Walter had described, the little island with the band of convicts on it with the circle of canoes around it.
"They won't stand much show if the Indians attack them in earnest," observed the captain, "there ain't a bit of shelter on that island and it ain't hardly a foot above water."
As the little party gazed eagerly upon the scene, the next act in the grim tragedy occurred.
"Look," exclaimed Charley, "they didn't fasten their canoe and it is drifting away. They are so busy watching the Indians that they haven't noticed it yet."
A yell of dismay from the convicts soon told that they had discovered their loss. A few dashed down to the water as though they would plunge in after the drifting craft, but they evidently lacked the courage to face the bullets that would surely greet them if they ventured the act, for they stopped at the water's edge and soon returned to the breastworks of sand.
An Indian paddled out from the circle of canoes and securing the drifting craft, towed it back to the others.
"Just look," exclaimed Walter, "I wonder what the Seminoles mean by that move."
The others gazed eagerly with many exclamations of astonishment.
The circle of besieging canoes was breaking up, first one dropped out of the circle, then another, until the whole fleet had formed in one long, unbroken line. Paddles flashed in the water and the long line came sweeping gracefully on past the little island.
"You may hang me to the cross-trees, if they ain't agoin' to let them scoundrels go," cried the captain in disgust.
"It certainly looks like it," admitted Charley, sadly. "All they have to do is to swim to shore and make their way out on foot."
The big fleet came sweeping steadily on, headed directly for the landing where the little party stood.
An exultant yell burst from the convicts as they saw the dreaded attack so quickly abandoned.
A hundred yards from the landing, the fleet of canoes seemed to slacken speed, many of the Indians stopped paddling, and the long line was thrown into confusion.
An Indian in the leading canoe stood up and seemed to be haranguing the others.
"That's Little Tiger," said Walter eagerly, as he recognized the orator. "He's making a speech."
The hunters could, of course, make nothing of the speaker's words, but the tone of his voice told him that the young Indian was terribly in earnest. His clear, resonant voice seemed to now ring with despairing scorn, now sink to touching appeal.
"My, but he's a born orator!" exclaimed Charley in admiration. "It sounds as though he was lashing them up to some desperate undertaking."
The Indian at last ceased speaking and resuming his paddle sent his craft forward, his companions following in his wake.
He grounded his rude canoe at the hunters' feet and sprang out with the light, lithe leap of a panther.
"How," he said, gravely, extending his hand to each in turn.
The hunters shook the small, shapely hand with genuine pleasure. They were all struck by the change in the young Indian. In the short time since they had seen him last he had changed from a care-free stripling to a thoughtful chief whose word was law with his people. His manner had become grave and reserved, and there was about him an air of conscious power that well became his manly bearing.
He glanced from one to the other of the little party with keen eyes. "It is well," he said, in his clear, musical voice. "All here, none missing, not even the little one with a face like night. The Little Tiger's heart was heavy with fear lest he should come too late. But neither the jackal's tribe nor the spirits of the night have harmed his friends."
"Did not the young chief fear to land on the island of the spirits?" asked Charley with a smile.
The Indian drew himself up proudly. "Shall a Seminole fear to follow where the paleface dares to tread?" he demanded.
"Even the palefaces were filled with fear," said Charley, quickly, regretting his attempt at pleasantry, "but they found that they had been only children frightened at shadows. They have slain that which made the noises full of mystery."
"Does the young white chief speak with the tongue of truth?" asked the Seminole, eagerly.
"Even as he would be spoken to," answered Charley, gravely. "If the Little Tiger will come with his paleface friends, they will show him many wonderful things."
For a moment the young Indian hesitated, the fears bred in him by tradition struggling with his curiosity, but curiosity conquered. Turning to his followers, who had all drawn in to the landing, he gave some sharp commands in his own language. They stepped ashore with evident reluctance and there was considerable murmuring amongst them. The chief looked them over with a scornful eye.
"Some of my warriors are not men, but squaws in men's clothing," he said, bitterly. "Their blood is like water in their veins with fear."
The murmuring Seminoles grew silent under their chief's scornful gaze, and when he moved forward with his white friends they followed closely in the rear.
On the way up to the wall, Charley explained to the young Indian about the bell and its nightly ringer.
The chief listened with relief and satisfaction on his face and quickly communicated the news in his own tongue to his followers. Immobile as were the Indians' faces, they could not conceal entirely their relief and pleasure at the explanation of what had been to them a life-long, fearful mystery.
Little Tiger was astonished when he saw the ancient road through the forest, and, at the sight of walls and buildings of stone, he exhibited a childish delight. "This is an island worthy of being the home of a great chief," he declared. "In the big wigwam of stone (the fort) the Little Tiger will rest in peace when not on the hunt, and the squaws shall make of this dirt of black, great fields of yams and waving corn. It is good, that which the palefaces have done; how can their red brother reward them?"
"By lending them one of his warriors to guide them back to where their ponies and goods are waiting," answered Charley, promptly.
"It shall be done," said the chief, "though the hearts of their red brothers will be heavy at parting. Their hearts were filled with gladness with the hope that the palefaces would bide with them and take unto them squaws from among the Seminoles."
The captain was on the point of exploding with indignation at the thought of an Indian squaw, but Charley spoke up quickly.
"Little Tiger does his friends great honor, yet, though their hearts are heavy at the thought of parting, they must go." Charley glanced at the captain and added mischievously, "He with the gray hair on face and head has, without doubt, many squaws amongst his people whose hearts are longing for his return."
The old sailor glared at the speaker in speechless indignation.
"There cannot be too many hands to till the fields," observed the chief, gravely. "I will give him another squaw to take back with him to his wigwam."
Charley silenced the embarrassed captain with a shake of his head. "The chief is kind," he said, "but squaws are not as men, there would be great enmity and hair-pulling between the white squaws and the red, and when squaws quarrel the wigwam is sad for the warrior."
The chief nodded gravely. "The young white chief speaks truly," he said.
The conversation on the part of the hunters had so far been conducted by Charley. Walter had remained silent, busily thinking over the wrongs that had been done them by the convicts. He could not forget the still, cold form in the hut that had been robbed of life by the murderers' bullets. He was not usually a vindictive boy, but, as he thought of Ritter's noble act and sudden death, his passion steadily grew and at last he turned scornfully to the young chief.
"Little Tiger speaks with the tongue of a man, but his deeds are those of a squaw," he declared, bitterly. "Are he and his braves afraid of the murderers of his people and the slayers of his father that they leave them to escape in peace and safety?"
"They will not escape," said the young Indian, his face darkening with anger at the savage taunt. "A man's death for a man, but jackals shall die like jackals. With hearts of terror and blood turned to water in their fear, they shall die a death more horrible than the palefaces can give them."
"You have offended him, Walter," said Charley, as the young savage walked proudly away. "Why couldn't you be more patient? I have felt all along that he had some plan for dealing with the convicts."
"I suppose I have put my foot in it," said Walter regretfully, "but it's no use crying about it now."
The Indians were already lighting fires and preparing breakfast, but the hunters had a task before them which they felt they must perform before they could touch food, and they immediately set about it.
In the shade of a majestic live oak, they dug a deep grave and in it laid to rest the body of the unfortunate Ritter. Their eyes were moist as the earth covered the remains of the young hero.
Little Tiger rose to meet them as they approached the group of Indians.
Walter walked up to him with outstretched hand. "I am sorry for my angry, foolish words," he said. "When sorrow bears heavy on the heart, the tongue grows bitter."
The young Seminole grasped the offered hand with evident pleasure. "Even squaws forgive and forget, and a warrior should be nobler than a squaw," he said, sagely. "The palefaces shall be seated and share the food of their red brothers."
The hunters would gladly have declined, but could not well do so without giving offense, so they seated themselves in the circle surrounding the steaming kettle containing the food and with inward qualms partook lightly of the stew.
There was a kettle to every fifteen Indians, and their manner of eating left much to be desired. Spoons and forks they had none, but they solved the problem by dipping their hands into the pot and fishing out the portions desired. With true courtesy, the guests were given the first dip into the pot.
As they ate, the hunters had an opportunity to study their hosts more carefully than they had yet done.
They were all splendid specimens of savage manhood. Not one was less than six feet tall, and each was shaped and muscled like an athlete. All wore the usual Seminole dress, a long shirt belted in at the waist, moccasins, and turbans of tightly wound red handkerchiefs. They were extremely neat and cleanly in appearance, a virtue not common with Indian tribes.
There were a few squaws among the company, but they did not tempt a second glance. They were wooden-faced, slovenly-looking creatures almost disgusting in appearance. They were loaded with string upon string of colored beads forming a solid mass, like a huge collar, from the point of their chins down to their chests.
"Which one have you picked out for your own, Captain?" whispered Charley. "That big one over there seems to have her eye upon you."
The old sailor flushed with embarrassment. "Look out or they'll have you," he cautioned fearfully, "I kinder feel that big one has singled me out, an' I don't want to encourage her none."
The Indians seemed to regard the day as a holiday to celebrate the laying out of the spirits and the adding of a large fertile island to their domain.
The morning was given over to feasting and to running, jumping and wrestling matches. Only the young Indians indulged in these contests, the warriors sitting gravely looking on.
Our young hunters tried their strength and skill with the Indian lads, but, although they were stronger and more nimble than most boys of their age, they found that they were no match for the young Seminoles.
While the boys were enjoying the contests, the captain sat moodily apart, keeping a worried eye upon the squaws.
With a mischievous twinkle in his eye, Charley drew aside one of the Seminole lads, whom he had found could speak English, and whispered eagerly to him.
The Indian lad's bright, beady eyes twinkled as he listened, and, when Charley concluded, he nodded his head and slipped away into the group around the fire.
"Look, Walt, oh, look," shouted Charley a moment later, "look at the captain, oh my, oh my," and Charley rolled on the grass in wicked glee.
The young Indian had done his work well. A dozen of the squaws had formed a ring around the old sailor and were slowly closing in. The captain had struggled to his feet and with red face and horrified eyes was waving his arms frantically, shouting, "Go away, go away," much as one would shoo a flock of chickens.
"Don't be afraid, captain," called Charley, "they only want to embrace you."
"I won't be embraced, I won't, I won't," cried the old sailor, frantically.
"Come, Captain, do the Hobson act," said Walter, "the ladies expect it."
"Help, help," shouted the captain appealingly, as the circle of grave-faced squaws steadily advanced, "I won't be embraced, I won't."
With a sudden howl of terror the squaws turned and fled.
In his fear, the captain had opened his mouth a little too far and his false teeth had tumbled out. The old sailor caught them in his hand and continued to wave his arms. "I won't be embraced," he shouted.
But there was no need of the defiance; the squaws would not, for untold beads, have come near the strange being with the movable teeth.
"Shame, Captain," said Charley severely, as the two boys approached the old sailor. "You must have been flirting with those ladies to make them act like that."
"I guess they was just attracted by my appearance," said the captain modestly, "I always was a favorite with the ladies."
"Looks as if they were headed this way again," said Walter.
With a cry of fright the old sailor turned and dashed away for the shelter of the hut as fast as he could run.
The boys shouted with laughter, and even the grave warriors smiled at the scene.
After dinner the celebration was renewed, but this time the youths formed the audience while their elders held shooting matches and more sober contests of skill and strength.
The captain did not emerge from the hut until nearly sundown, and when he did appear he carried both upper and lower teeth in his hand. Whenever a squaw approached anywhere near him he would open his mouth to its fullest extent and wave the teeth in the air.
"They will get used to seeing you without them and soon think you as beautiful as ever," Charley said to him, gravely.
"Charley," said the old sailor, solemnly, "for good or ill, we leave this island to-morrow. It ain't often them Injin women meets with a man of my looks, an' it has drove 'em plum crazy. It ain't safe for me to stay longer."
"I'm wondering what that widow lady in Shelbourne will say when she hears of this," said Walter musingly. "She will naturally think that you must have given them great encouragement."
"If either of you lads breathe a word of this in town, I'll throttle you," declared the apprehensive old sailor.
"We won't say a word," said Charley, severely, "but I must say you have been setting Walter and I a terrible example, captain."
After this parting shot, the two tormentors retired quickly, for the old sailor was almost at the exploding point with indignation.
The captain was not the only one to whom the afternoon had brought trials. Chris had not been without his share of troubles. The Seminoles treated him with marked disdain and would not even permit him to eat with the others.
"The Indians consider the darky as an inferior being," Charley had confided to Walter in a whisper. "There are rumors that there is more than one negro slave in the heart of the Everglades. The Seminoles have a proverb, 'White man, Indian, dog, nigger,' which expresses their opinion of the colored race."
Chris' troubles reached their climax when the little party was seated around the fire with the Indians in the evening.
The chief, who had been watching the little darky closely all day, turned to Charley: "Me buy 'em," he said, indicating Chris with a wave of his hand. "Me buy nigger."
"I ain't no nigger," shouted Chris in a rage, "I'se a free-born black Englishman, dat's what I is."
Charley silenced the indignant little darky with a wave of his hand.
"He already has a master and is therefore not ours to sell," he said, while Chris bristled with indignation.
"Who master?" inquired the Seminole with an appraising glance at the sturdy little darky.
"A man called King Edward," said Charley gravely, and Chris' indignation subsided.
"Too bad," grunted the chief, and dropped the subject.
"What's that?" exclaimed Walter suddenly, as distant rifle shots echoed in the air, were repeated irregularly and finally ceased.
"The convicts, I guess," whispered Charley, "I don't understand why they are firing, though. All the Indians are here."
Significant glances passed between the Indians.
"Jackals are dead," said the chief, a fierce exultation in his face.
"Who killed them?" cried Charley.
"Crocodiles," said the Seminole, briefly.
The little party stared at each other in horror. They understood now why the Seminoles had not made an attack, and had showed so much confidence in the convicts not being able to escape.
Much as the hunters hated the men who had persecuted them, they felt shocked and horror-stricken at the horrible fate that had overtaken them.
The hunters soon withdrew from the circle around the fire and made their way to their hut.
"This has been a queer trip," said Charley musingly. "I do not believe I care to make another like it. Look at all we have been through, and what have we gained by it? Nothing."
"We might stop on the St. Johns on our way back and hunt again for plumes," suggested Walter.
But the others negatived the proposal decidedly.
"It would be like tempting Providence, after the dangers we have been spared from," the captain declared.
"Dis nigger wants to get out ob a kentry where a black Englishman is called a nigger," said Chris.
"Don't mention plumes to me," exclaimed Charley, "I am sick of everything connected with this trip."
Walter smiled. "I am quite sure that I would not feel at all bad if I knew we were carrying back several thousand dollars' worth of plumes with us," he said.
"Oh, quit your dreaming and go to bed," exclaimed Charley, testily, "instead of carrying back a few thousand dollars' worth of plumes with us, we will all have to hunt for a job, when we get to the coast."
But in spite of Charley's dire prophecy, Walter was smiling as he undressed in the dark.
The hunters were astir at break of day and preparing for an early start. They cooked and ate a hasty breakfast and then carried their canoes down to the water.
The Indian whom the chief had assigned as their guide was already patiently waiting in his dugout.
It did not take the hunters long to stow away their few belongings and they were soon ready for their departure.
The chief followed them to the water accompanied by all his band.
The hunters parted with the young Seminole with genuine regret, and he, for his part, seemed greatly affected.
"The Little Tiger hopes that his white brothers will return again to the Glades," he said as he shook hands with each. "His wigwam will be always open to them. Will not he with the hair like the Spanish moss, consider again, and choose from among them one of the squaws to cheer his wigwam?"
"No, thank ye, chief," said the old sailor hastily, "it would only make the rest of 'em jealous."
The rest of the Indians gathered around and each shook hands with the little party, gravely saying "How," the only English many of them knew.
The hunters stepped aboard their canoes, and took up their paddles. The Indian guide in his dugout took the lead and with flashing blades the hunters followed closely in his wake.
As they passed the little island where the convicts had met their death, the hunters could not repress a shudder of horror. Around it lay the repulsive-looking crocodiles, placidly sleeping on the water, and amongst them floated a man's straw hat. It was all that remained of the cruel, merciless band.
"They deserved death, but the death they met was too awful for any human being," Charley murmured.
"I wonder what became of Indian Charley," said Walter. "He was not with the others."
Their guide's quick ears had caught the question. "He tied to tree in swamp for mosquitoes to eat," he volunteered pleasantly.
"I think," remarked Charley, after a long pause, "I think I would rather be a Seminole's friend than his enemy."
"Aye, lad," agreed the captain, "they are savages still in their loves and hates."
The Seminole guide led them out of the Everglades by a short cut, and the hunters sighed with relief when the great swamp was left behind.
For two days they traveled while daylight lasted, making camp at night on some convenient point. On the morning of the third day they reached their old camp where their things were buried. Here they went into camp again while the Seminole scoured the woods for their ponies. He returned triumphant the second day riding one of the horses and driving the others. The animals were sleek and fat from rich feeding and long inactivity.
The hunters made their guide presents of a couple of clasp knives and a revolver with its ammunition and sent him away delighted.
"I wanted to wait until we got home to give you a big surprise, but I can't keep it concealed any longer," said Walter regretfully, as his companions began to take the canoes apart preparatory to stowing them in the packs.
While the others gazed at him in surprise, he drew out a bundle from under the thwart of one of the canoes. Undoing it he took out a long feathery plume.
"Where did you get that?" exclaimed Charley in surprise.
"It's one of those we dug up on the chief's island," explained Walter. "You see I used to work in a store where they used to handle such things, and I got an idea when we first opened the package that those plumes were not in as bad shape as they appeared. I did not say anything about it, because I did not want to run the risk of possibly causing more disappointment, but I put the box in the canoe and the first chance I got on the island I took a weak solution of vinegar and water and went to work on them. I had only time to clean two or three, but I am sure that at least three-fourths of them can be made saleable."
"Walter, you're a trump," exclaimed Charley in delight, and the others were not much behind in expressing their admiration and joy.
Owing to Walter's thoughtfulness, it was a gay, happy party that took up the trail back for the coast.
The return trip was made without any uncommon incident and the little party arrived safely at the little seacoast town of Shelbourne. Here they sold their ponies and arms, and renting a little house, went busily to work cleaning and preparing the damaged plumes for market. When the task was finished and the last plume sold, they found themselves the happy possessors of the not insignificant sum of $3,200, which divided between them gave each a capital of $800.
With the first money they received from their plumes, they purchased a handsome repeating rifle which they despatched to their friend, Little Tiger, by an Indian who had come into town to trade.
A couple of weeks after, the hunters received a visit from the Seminole who had acted as their guide. He was the bearer of a bundle of beautifully tanned deer-skins, a present from the chief.
"The Little Tiger mourns for his white brothers," said the chief's messenger, "the beautiful rifle speaks to him like a message from them. He bids them when they will to return and end their days in the shelter of his wigwam. He says, if the gray-haired one desires, the offer of a squaw is still open."
The joke on the captain was too good to keep, and the boys have told it to the widow lady whom the captain is interested in. She sometimes tasks him with having given the dusky ladies too great encouragement, and the old sailor gets very red and protests that such was not the case; that he couldn't help it; that he always was a great favorite with the ladies. At first, he used to call upon Walter and Charley to prove the truth of his statements, but they would only shake their heads ominously and remain gravely silent.
Upon their return the hunters had prepared a full statement of the death of the convicts and mailed it to the proper authorities, but, much to their indignation, their story was not believed but was regarded as an attempt to secure the reward money that had been offered.
Chris is just now greatly incensed over a song that every one seems to be humming. We believe the chorus runs, "Coon, coon, coon, how I wish my color would fade." He regards "coon" as a much more offensive title even than nigger, and contends that it is no name to be applied to a free-born black English gentleman.
Just now all our hunters are resting up from their terrible experiences. One would think that they had passed through enough to discourage them from undertaking another hazardous trip, but adventures breed a love for adventure, and the free, open air calls loudly to those who have followed stream and forest.